


bad luck charm

by The Hero of Rhyme (hottokokoa)



Category: MEGANEBU!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hottokokoa/pseuds/The%20Hero%20of%20Rhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yukiya doesn’t like other people seeing him cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bad luck charm

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by otpprompts on tumblr; "Imagine Person A holding a sobbing Person B. Person B cries them self to sleep with their face buried into Person A."

Akira doesn’t expect anyone to still be in the club room when he turns the knob to the club’s space. It is long after the last meeting had been adjourned, and even longer since the school day had come to an end; the sky is orange in the distance as the sun begins to say it’s goodbyes, disappearing behind the tall buildings of the surrounding city. Feeble light bleeds in through the room’s spacious windows, casting shadows of their glasses-shaped paraphernalia along the back wall. 

He almost doesn’t enter the room, figuring that whatever he needs to get done could wait until the next day; that he had wasted time climbing back up the flights of stairs when he could be at home with his brother. Almost.

A sound that nearly breaks his heart in half voices itself from behind the couch in the corner of the room. His fingers fumbles around on the wall in search of the light switch. He closes the door behind him with such vigor that it ricochets off of its frame. The sobbing cuts off as it slams shut and the lights flicker on. Akira bounds toward the couch.

Yukiya had not heard when he first entered, himself curled up in a tight ball on the ground. His back rests against the side of the club’s couch as he cries softly to himself. His cheeks are warm and wet with tears, and the lens of his glasses are clouded with moisture. He brings a hand to his face and rubs fervently at his eyes, failing to choke back a loud wail. Only when he hears the shuffling at the door does he try to clean himself up, swallowing hard at the thought of a confrontation.

“Yukiya?” Akira furrows his brow, squatting next to Yukiya’s figure on the floor. The dark haired boy says nothing in reply, but jumps in his skin as a hand rests on his shoulder. “Yukiya,” the Glasses Club president begins again, beside himself with his words. He gulps at the prospect of making conversation with his friend in this state. But as President, I have to look out for my fellow glasses-wearers. He glances over at the other’s quivering body, and sighs. I have to look out for my friend.

“What’s wrong?” The question is simple enough, but it hangs in the air, weighing down on the both of them with each continuing moment of silence. Yukiya takes in a shaky, shallow breath, clenching and unclenching his fists as he racks his brain for the right words to say. The sky outside the classroom begins to darken as the sun finally sets. Akira squeezes his friend’s shoulder gently, as though to push him for an answer. He bites down on his bottom lip, scooting closer to the other second-year.

Yukiya lifts his head up slightly from between his knees, turning to face Akira, eyes red and puffy from crying. Damp trails where tears had previously fallen plagues his cheeks and catches in the room’s artificial light. The brunet almost draws blood from his lip when he meets his friend’s gaze, deciding he can’t bear to see him like this. His voice cracks, though he’s too proud to admit it, when he all but begs, “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Yukiya’s eyes water over once more, and before Akira is aware of what’s transpiring, the dark haired boy is cradled in his arms, his face burrowed in the crook of his neck, glasses digging uncomfortably into his skin. He doesn’t mind. Instead, he wraps his arms tight around Yukiya, stroking his back as he sobs into him. He gasps when Yukiya hooks his arms around his waist, but regains himself and sets to running a hand through his friend’s black locks. He makes a shooshing sound in attempts to calm him down.

It is forever until Yukiya stops crying. He is settled now, nestled in Akira’s lap, head resting against his shoulder. Akira’s somehow managed to take his glasses off in the mess of everything, and placed them on the table next to the couch. He is tired, nodding off and then catching himself before he slips under every so often. He readjusts his position on the floor and rubs Yukiya’s back, shooshes him, tells him everything will be alright, and then goes back to sleeping until the next time he wakes himself up.

Yukiya shifts in Akira’s arms and he is wide awake again. Yukiya is red in the face, and neither of them can make out if it’s because of their current situation or because of his crying fit, but they suppose it doesn’t matter. Akira does not mention it when he reaches for Yukiya’s face and tucks away a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. Yukiya places his hand over Akira’s.

“Are you okay?” It is barely above a whisper, but Yukiya nods in reply. His grip on Akira’s hand tightens briefly, and he only just catches the “thank you,” that Yukiya manages to sneak out. The corners of his mouth curve upward, but he is not smiling; it is his way of saying “you’re welcome,” the only way he thought would be appropriate. They do not need words to express their gratitude.

“Do you mind telling me what got you so worked up?” Akira breaks the silence at last as he and Yukiya make their way down the side of the road. It is night time and the moon is high in the sky, glowing and casting its light over the boys as they walk home. Akira had not realized how long they had been at the school until he stepped foot outside.

They are hand-in-hand. Yukiya stops in the middle of the road, and Akira turns to him. He says he didn’t mean to offend him by asking, just that he was worried, but Yukiya shakes his head. He casts his gaze to the side of the road and it is silent once again for a long while as Akira waits for Yukiya to explain himself.

“I don’t want to be a bad luck charm anymore,” is all he says and Akira is shocked at his response, staring wide-eyed at the boy in front of him. He rubs his thumb over Yukiya’s hand and in a swift motion, closes the gap between them. He takes Yukiya’s face in his free hand and cups his cheek, making it easier to kiss him. When their lips meet, it is awkward, and Akira doesn’t know what he’s doing and Yukiya is standing as stiff as a pole because wow, that was unexpected. Akira’s lips are chapped because while he may spend so much time catering to his glasses, he doesn’t care much for personal grooming; but, God, does it feel good. Yukiya shuts his eyes tight and makes a noise in the back of his throat that doesn’t sound much like anything. Akira laughs at this and smiles into Yukiya and he does the same, and everything in that moment is right, nevermind the fact that it’s midnight and their parents are probably worried sick about them and they had just spent the last few hours in the club room having a crying fest.

Akira is the first to pull away and when he does, he rests his forehead against Yukiya’s, stroking his cheek. Yukiya is stunned -- he doesn’t have much to say in the first place, but in this moment, he couldn’t form words if his life depended on it. His expression gives him away; he is dumbfounded and flushed and he can’t tell up from down and Akira struggles to take it all it -- how beautiful his friend looks under the moonlight, blushing and awe-struck. He laughs once more, louder this time, but Yukiya knows he isn’t laughing at him.

“Yukiya, you’re not a bad luck charm,” and he wraps his arms around his waist and looks up to the moon before planting another kiss on him, shorter and sweeter. “You’re wonderful.”


End file.
